


Lessons In Selfishness

by Okobogee



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Hell, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Underworld, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okobogee/pseuds/Okobogee
Summary: Young and foolish, he signed a contract he didn’t read. He wanted riches and prestige, but found out the hard way that knowing the right people and shaking the right hands could only get you so far before you’d have to start putting in some work yourself.Had he realised what kind of work it is, he might’ve not signed his name on the contract at all.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is a horror fic and will feature depictions of violence! 
> 
> If you’ve read my other work you’ll know that I’m all about unexpected twists at the end and because I want to keep that a secret, I will be adding tags throughout the fic.
> 
> This is my first chaptered fic and I might be a bit slow to update, but I hope you’ll be patient with me. If you want to have a chat, I can be found on [ twitter!](https://twitter.com/okobogee)

He sighs in frustration. Of course _this_ is the part that’s been made difficult for him. He was promised money and prestige falling into his lap, but like any man on the precipice of adulthood, he thought he was smarter, thought he knew the ways of the world and how to outsmart _Him_ , but apparently he didn’t know how to read the fine print on the backside of the contract he signed. 

He learned the hard way that knowing the right people and shaking the right hands could only get you so far before you’d have to start putting in some work yourself.

After four additional failures, he drains the rest of his drink and slinks out. The night air is cooler than he thought, and he shivers as his body adjusts. He got out right after the partygoers of the city all swarmed the clubs, so the trek home is silent. The city’s eerie like this, he doesn’t like it. Another failed night means more unfinished projects for him. It’s not the end of the world, it’s not like he needs to sell anything in between commissions anymore but he likes to stay busy. 

He lets himself in through the front, too lazy to squeeze into the tiny alley next between the two buildings. The store too, is quiet. He doesn’t like it. He leaves the lights off and weaves between the clutter. The sawdust dancing gently in the air makes him screw his eyes shut and sneeze. He stumbles and trips over a small metal bucket, a thick, syrup-y liquid oozing out and making his loafers squelch on the floor.

“Great. Just what I needed _”_

Overtired and grumpy, he toes off his loafers then and there and leaves them where they are. He’ll deal with them in the morning. He’ll deal with everything in the morning. He hates the night with its blanket of silence and its long shadows, and wishes he never signed up for this. His world could be warmth and sun and laughter again. What is the use of being on top of the world if all it brings him is misery?

He plugs his phone in to charge during the night and turns on a podcast. He misses easy conversations with people, misses the warmth of human communication and even though the conversations he will never get to have again make him sad, he hates the quiet more. In the beats of silence, he hears the sounds _His_ dogs make, the crunch of bone, the shaky breaths of a person in excruciating pain and the ceaseless dripping of blood.

The night is cold and joyless, so he places his trust in the morning. It has always come before, and it will always come again.

He wakes up, blinded by brightness and were it not for the physical awareness the aches in his body create, he would think that he’s been saved. Hope has no place in the lives of the wicked, he reminds himself, before he even thinks about hoping. Having forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, he is now sweating in a prison created by his duvet and the beam of sunlight reaching the bed. 

He never gets drunk, it interferes with his work but for some reason he feels groggy and run down this morning, as if he was suffering from a hangover. 

He spills the coffee he was pouring all over himself and curses halfheartedly. The hot, dark brown liquid pooling at his feet and absorbing into his white cotton socks makes him flash back to the night before and this time he curses with his whole chest. Wet socks slapping unpleasantly on the floor, he races downstairs with a rag in his hand. Just as he’s managed to take the metal bucket and dirty rag into the back, a tall figure pushes theirway into the shop. 

_Fuck_ , he must have forgotten to lock the door after himself when he returned from his prowl. The floorboards still carry a wet, dark brown stain at the spot he just finished scrubbing clean, but he knows that he’ll be able to talk himself out of it with a flash of his pearly white canines. 

_Or not._

He’s met with the sharp eyes of a man of imposing height. Head gelled back, wearing a dark pinstripe suit and bearing no obvious facial expression, the guest carries the air of a person who is not to be fucked with. 

_Must be someone from the headquarters_

The man in black opens his mouth to speak, but what follows is the tiniest, softest sneeze. 

“Bless you”, he says and the words burn in his throat.

“....Thank you”

The imposing guest has a voice so deep it dredges up memories of something deep in the recesses of the mind, an echo in the darkness of the endless tunnels, but it’s also soft and he thinks about the whisper of his mother’s lips on his cheeks and the comforting smell of vanilla that clung to her. It’s time to snap back to reality, though.

“Ah, welcome! I’m sorry about the state of things”, he gestures towards his adidas sweatpants and the white, oversized t-shirt, speckled a dry burgundy at the hem, “but you caught me unawares”

“Oh, I’m sorry is this a bad time? I thought— the, the door was open so I just walked in… I’m so sorry I should’ve looked at the sign out front before barging in like that!”

The guest looks distinctly alarmed, and his ears are glowing a bright crimson of embarrassment.

“Oh no don’t worry about it! It was my mistake anyway, leaving the door unlocked like that”, he waves his hands in the air, with the best customer service smile in his repertoire. 

”So, what can I do you for?”, he tilts his head to the side, knowing how much he resembles a puppy like that. 

“I’d like to commission a bed frame”

“Ah, let me just get my notebook”, his socks are still wet, and as he turns around to pop back to his office, he hears the customer chuckle at the sound they make. He doesn’t know whether he should apologise or not, so he squelches his way to the back. When he gets to his office he hastily toes his socks off and kicks them to the far corner with a muttered curse. Notebook in hand, he walks back out and this time the guest’s eyes sweep down to take stock of his bare feet. _Great._

He knows he wouldn’t need to be on his best behaviour with customers — they all flock to him anyway, it’s the pull the dreadful contract has. With his notebook open, they go over the process of ordering custom made furniture. When it comes down to choosing a type of wood, the man goes for ebony with no hesitation. He doesn’t recognise him as anyone famous, so he warns the customer that ebony is one of the most expensive types of wood and a king sized bed made out of it could be out of the man’s budget.

“Oh, you don’t recognise me”, comes an awkward chuckle. He lifts his head up in alarm, he needs to fulfill his monthly quota or _He_ will be very angry.

“Ah, I’m so sorry sir. I don’t really follow the media much” he lies through his teeth

_Must be a CEO of some sort…_

“That’s okay. In any case, I assure you I have more than enough money”

“Alright, I think that’s all, then. I’ll draw up some sketches for the overall design and you can come back in…. let’s say a week, to go over them with me”

“That sounds good, thank you…..?”

_Seems like the both of us are in the dark._

“Kim Mingyu”, he extends his hand to the customer. The grip is gentle, his hands are warm and dry. Soft in a striking contrast to the rough, calloused hands Mingyu’s developed because of his work.

“Jeon Wonwoo. I’ll see you in a week, Mingyu”

The corners of Wonwoo’s mouth twitch minutely in a fleeting smile, and Mingyu watches him walk out, steps so light they make no sound. He feels the draft of the door opening, and when it closes, he’s left with silence that makes him scurry towards the old radio he keeps behind the counter. He doesn’t want to hear his nightmares today. The encounter with Wonwoo colours him with strange serenity he doesn’t dare to disturb so he locks the door and gets to work on the drafts. 

The process of creating furniture is very strict, and requires the usage of specialist equipment every step of the way. He might be working on someone’s orders, but none of the furniture is actually for those who place the orders, it’s all for _Him_ and _He_ likes things just so.

Mingyu, still barefoot, pads into his office. It’s a small, cramped space, not touched by his usual need for cleanliness and organisation. The room houses all of the most important tools needed by carpenters of his….. specialisation. There’s something about the tools that makes him feel anxious. 

” _It’s the vibes, these things have rank vibes”_

Joshua got so much closer to the truth than anyone else. He was a man of God, and Mingyu had known getting closer to him would be as close to a direct violation of contract as he dared to do, but something drove him to take the plunge. Perhaps it was the calming presence Joshua had. He was easygoing, carefree in a way that would’ve verged on naiveté if you hadn’t looked into his eyes before. To this day, Mingyu is certain Joshua knew the full extent to what he was embroiled in, but he sees no way how. 

_Unless…..?_

No, it’s impossible. _He_ would have interfered much sooner. He shakes off the thought, best not to dwell on it.

The sound of the radio doesn’t carry into the back of the store that well, and Mingyu tries not to panic as he gathers everything he’ll need.

_”Breathe in slowly and count to four…. That’s it. Now hold it for another count of four…. Good, and now exhale slowly”_

With his arms overflowing, he bolts from the room and sprints back to the front of the shop. When he was a child, he used to run like this, past the darkened rooms in the house after he’d had to use the toilet in the middle of the night. Back then he thought there were monsters on his tail, hanging onto the threads of his shadow and licking his heels. Now he knows it to be true, and unlike the make-believe monsters of his childhood, the ones breathing down his neck don’t disappear when the tip of his toe touches the edge of where the soft glow of his night light reaches. 

Mingyu spreads everything on the shiny, lacquered pink ivory wood table. It gleams red in the sunshine, red like the drops of first blood drawn from those who cross _Him_. Mingyu unscrews the cap of a small inkwell and grimaces as the strong odour prickles his nose. There’s a sigh bubbling in his chest but he pushes it down. Opening one’s mouth while the ink is out is a bad idea.

The scratching of pen on paper acutely reminds him of the sounds of a bone saw at work, and he sketches as quickly as possible, trying to cover the sound by reciting song lyrics like a prayer. There was no singing in his house, not anymore.

The words make little sense to him and he’s not certain if they’re even in the right order, but all he wants is to stay here. If he fails to meet his quota, he’ll be taken in. He’s been to the main office once, after he had foolishly thought he could cheat the Boss. Just thinking about the pitch black hallways and the cavernous rooms, the echoes of his shoes on the marble and the faint screams of people who crossed _Him_ makes him shiver.

Sketching the bed takes longer than he thought it would. He groans as he gets up and the vertebrae of his spine realign. How he managed to spend fifteen hours drawing up blueprinyd as an 18-year-old is beyond him, but once the sketching starts, it cannot be stopped midway through. Not unless he wants to create an abomination.

He does curse the process though, he’s now lost another night. 

He’s tired and achy and weak with hunger, it’s now been thirty-six hours since he last ate. Leaving the tools on the table, and the radio on, he drags himself through darkened hallways and cramped stairs to his studio apartment upstairs. He feels eyes on the back of his head, following his every move. The hairs on his neck stand up, and he feels a tingling cold run down his spine. Mingyu knows they’re watching him, the surveillance has gotten stricter in the past two weeks due to his scrambling failures to meet this month’s quota. He’s so tired of this life, this contract, that he considers letting himself just fail, but he knows that the fate that awaits him if he fails is worse than death.

_There’s still a week to hunt, I’ll find some prey._

  
  



	2. Nice To Meet You, Hope You Guess My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: suicidal thoughts and explicit violence, not for the squeamish!   
> I tried to check it for any mistakes since I wrote a lot of it on my phone, hopefully there aren't any glaring mistakes!

He arrives at the address he’s been given. It’s at a crossroads, and there’s nothing there except a few, small family-owned shops. They’re all closed. He should’ve known better than to trust the strange young man selling folk remedies and performing  _ Saju _ readings. Annoyed, Mingyu’s ready to give up and head home, but then his eyes are drawn to a light at the other end of the narrow market street. It’s a neon sign in the form of an ice cream cone proudly proclaiming  _ Scoops! _ There are no street lights here, so the sign is allowed to shine its light with no competition. Mingyu moves towards it in a trance-like state — a moth drawn to light. The ice cream parlour looks new and fresh, especially in comparison with the run down shops next to it. What is a chain establishment doing in the middle of a drowsy block in Anyang? He’s so engrossed in the mystery of  _ Scoops! _ occupying space there that he doesn’t notice the hairs at the back of his standing up, nor does he think about why an ice cream parlour would be open at 3 a.m. 

Mingyu tries the door, and it opens smoothly. For some unknown reason the call of the pastel pink and the soft blue of the little shop is too difficult to resist. His mother would whack him upside the head with her well-worn house slippers if she knew he was acting so recklessly.

Mingyu makes sure to look both ways before he steps in. The shop is empty, and all he can hear is the soft whirring of the freezer. There are photos covering the far wall and he moves to examine them. 

In one of them, a young man with a pastel pink cap over caramel hair at the camera, not quite smiling and eating a popsicle. Mingyu notes that one of his ears resembles that of an elf, he smiles at that. Something about the image captivates him. There’s something deeper behind the veneer of faux-innocence, a coldness in his eyes. Mingyu moves along the wall, looking at the photos. They all feature young men in pastel clothing, eating ice cream and generally looking happy. The last image stops Mingyu in his tracks. It’s him. It’s clearly him in the light blue beanie, perched on a roof and happy as ever. He feels an inexplicable cold, as he gazes at the photo, and the mystery of it has him glued to the spot.

_ Something’s not right here. _

He stands there transfixed, staring at himself until his eyes go dry. Despite the discomfort, he’s unable to turn his eyes away. He thinks of Narcissus. Is he going to stand gazing at his form until he wastes away?

The spell is only broken by the squeak of sneakers on polished linoleum

He twists on his heel, alarmed and poised for a fight.

He doesn’t expect to come face-to-face with the man from the photo. Decked in a well tailored pinstripe suit, he looks completely different— not necessarily older, but there’s a hard set to his features now. Mingyu’s clearly been caught red handed in a place he shouldn’t be at this time of the night, but the man seems disinterested. He stares at Mingyu, and were he not clad in an expensive Italian suit, it would be easy to mistake him as a customer service worker fed up with people who choose to partake in consumerism at his place of employment. There’s a slight slouch to his posture, and his hands are casually in his pockets.

He’s shorter than Mingyu, and normally Mingyu would consider fighting his way out but there’s something about him that seems  _ off _ . One of his hands is still in the pocket of his slacks. Mingyu’s brain creates the image of a silent but deadly mafia man, ready to assassinate his competition.

”I assume you’re here to see the boss. If not then I’d like to give you a short lesson on why you shouldn’t go snooping around in the middle of the night’ The suited stranger speaks with an accent, soft and melodic. Mingyu tries to commit to memory in case he needs to recognise the guy later.

”I’m not doing anything illegal, though. The door is open and the lights are on!” Mingyu replies hotly.

”Oh I wasn’t referring to your trespassing, I was referring to the fact that…” 

He smoothly whips his hand out of the pocket of his slacks and levels a gun at Mingyu. 

”.... anything could happen”

Mingyu swallows slowly. The spit in his mouth has dried up, and he almost chokes on his tongue. Mingyu blinks, and suddenly everything is in slow motion. The man takes a leaping step towards Mingyu and fists his hand into the cotton of Mingyu’s t-shirt. When a small yank on the shirt brings them nose-to-nose, the nozzle of the gun pressing on Mingyu’s forehead. There’s a fleeting thought — he might’ve underestimated the man. The man speaks from the back of his throat, low and sinister. If it wasn’t for the breath tickling his face, Mingyu might’ve not realised, for he can barely hear the other.

”If you want to meet the boss, I’d consider dropping that attitude  _ now _ , cause he doesn’t tolerate insolence as well as I do”

Mingyu utters a small ”ᵒᵏᵃʸ” and tries not to move, lest any of his gestures are mistaken as disrespect. The man lets go of his t-shirt, and points the gun at the heavy curtain at the back corner of the room. Mingyu takes slow steps towards it, but it’s not good enough for the man, who starts shoving him.

”Quickly, you don’t have time to waste”

Mingyu pushes the curtain aside, stopping when he meets a pitch black hallway on the other side. The darkness begins unnaturally right where the curtain falls and Mingyu reckons that were he to shine a flashlight towards it, the beam wouldn’t reach past that supernaturally clear border.

”Keep going”

”But, I can’t see anything?”

As a response, something hard pokes him in the small of his back. It’s the pistol and the message couldn’t be clearer:  _ keep going. _ Mingyu steels his nerves and lays one of his hands on the wall. It feels cold to the touch — maybe they’re going to lock him in the walk-in freezer?

The hallway is endless and quiet, the air around them so still it feels heavy, almost as if they were underground. He feels his thoughts start to slip, his mind replaying all of the deepest valleys and the biggest heartbreaks. He feels low, insignificant.

_ Look at how pathetic you are. You want to be recognised for your work, but instead of working you turn to some stranger and chase a myth. Look at you — alone, about to die. And for what? Your selfish greed?  _

The voice scares him, it’s inside his head and overpowering his other thoughts. He recognises it as the voice of his younger self, overcritical and cruel as only kids can be. He used to spend hours in front of the mirror, picking at his flaws until they overwhelmed him. The routine should be familiar, the flaws picked at so expected that they don’t hurt anymore, but the tone takes him by surprise. This time there’s no arguing against the maliciousness of these thoughts, there’s no counterarguments, no mental calluses formed to protect the parts most commonly attacked. Mingyu is alone in the dark, stumbling around, hoping to connect with a wall so that he can try to find an exit or prove to himself the physical world still exists and he doesn’t have to be alone with his thoughts. 

Mingyu knows he’s stopped moving, and something inside him is urging him to move but he’s paralysed and can only stand there, listening to himself tearing his psyche into shreds. 

There’s a vicious growling in the dark, moving closer and Mingyu knows that whatever it is is bad news. He tries to take a step, but falls to his knees.

Time stretches and all there is is pain. Anguish so deep it floods his lungs and tears his heart apart, string by string. It boils his bones where they lay under his skin until there’s only glue left. Everything he is, mentally and physically, is pain.

He’s unable to scream, to cry, to let it all out. He thinks of his mother, but even her comforting presence is now stained. 

_ You don’t deserve the comfort of a warm heart like hers. She’s lived her whole life selflessly, putting others first instead of her. How can you even call yourself her son? You’re a disappointment, if she wasn’t so kind she would spit on you. _

Mingyu feels a hot breath on his face — it smells disgusting, like meat and blood. It’s almost like a panting dog, and Mingyu’s afraid of dying but sees no other way to silence the voice at the back of his mind.

”Please… please, stop, please… no more… please just kill me, I can’t take this anymore”, he struggles to get the words out, his throat is sandpaper, and exhaustion has settled in.

Hearing sound in the endless hallway stops him, it makes the space feel smaller. He gasps as he feels a hand forcibly shove him.

”About fuckin’ time”, mutters the gangster as he kicks and shoves Mingyu into a room. He feels shaken by his experience, but tries not to show it as he stands on shaky legs.

They’ve stepped into a large office with heavy oak bookcases on every wall. They seem to be set there for some sort of collectibles, but Mingyu doesn’t dare to look around long enough to determine what the peculiar glass containers really hold.

There’s a man sitting in a plush chair behind a massive oak desk. He is clad in a pinstripe suit identical to the gangster’s. It’s kind of a ridiculous uniform to be wearing and Mingyu feels like himself again. At this point he thinks the fortune teller’s boy must’ve sent him to the mafia — maybe they’ll harvest his kidneys.

The gangster might have a gun but Mingyu isn’t scared of a few clowns in matching suits. The man behind the desk gestures towards a chair in front of it. Mingyu saunters to it and slouches in it.

Mingyu scoffs and looks at the figure square in the face. He’s only seventeen but taller than him. Besides, it’s only a man in a pinstripe suit. ”Ah young mister Kim, you made it! How very nice. I know what you’re thinking — there’s nothing scary about a businessman, right? I know it may not seem like it but you  _ are _ in the right place.”

Mingyu levels a bored gaze at him, but doesn’t reply. 

”Very well. You came here to do business, so let’s get right down to it. What is it that you wish for?”

“I want to become the most prestigious carpenter in the world. I want to get rich with it, I want my name to be connected to celebrities”

“Carpentry? That’s a new one”

“And what about it?”

“Nothing, just realising that after all this time, even I can be surprised”

Mingyu smirks proudly, he’s surprised 

He takes a sheet of paper out from one of the drawers and sets it on the desk. Mingyu reaches for it, grabbing the corner, but the man presses his hand on top of it.The warm smile he has been graced with melts away into a steely expression.

”Before I give you this contract, I want to make sure we’re on the same line here. I don’t want to waste my time dealing with a snot-nosed brat who jumped into things carelessly” 

The end of the sentence comes out almost like a growl, but Mingyu can’t hear the ominous rattling of the windows, not when he’s being called a brat. Hackles raised, he mentions all of his achievements from winning school contests to being scouted to become an idol.

“So basically I’m an all around genius, I don’t need a discount godfather disrespecting me like this”

“My deepest apologies for not recognising your…. talent and intellect”

The man smiles and slides the contract towards Mingyu. Mingyu gleans through it, and writes his name next to the man’s. He glances at it and commits Choi Seungcheol into his memory. Once he’s done he slides the contract back and gets ready to get up when the man with the pistol grabs him by the back of his neck and forces him to sit back down. Seungcheol is smiling again.

“Not so fast, young mister. The contract needs to be finalised. Your arm if you would?”

The gangster forces Mingyu’s arm on the table and Seungcheol whips out a small dagger. The blade of it is a deep black, and the handle is decorated with filigree and rubies. It’s beautiful. 

“Do you like it, Mingyu? It was made by someone like you, a long time ago” Mingyu’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but Seungcheol’s eyes flick towards the gangster holding Mingyu’s arm. Before there’s time to think about what the dagger is for Seungcheol takes Mingyu’s hand in his and slashes along Mingyu’s fate line. Mingyu tries to not wince at the stinging pain. Blood trickles out and drips all over the desk. Seungcheol takes out a small, ornate bottle and sets it below Mingyu’s dripping hand. The bottle fills up slowly, one drop at a time. Once it’s full, Seungchel corks it slowly and slips it into his pocket. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly, it seems like he’s savouring the moment.

“That’s it! Your contract is a bit complicated so I’m giving you a grace period of two months before I start expecting you to fulfill your monthly quota. Use the time to learn the process inside and out”

_ Monthly quota?  _

“Minghao, please escort our guest out”

The gangster — Minghao — grabs Mingyu roughly by the arm and starts dragging him towards the dark hallway they came through previously. It’s still dark but this time he can hear faint cries coming from somewhere in the darkness. There’s that growling from before, and Mingyu hopes Minghao would lead him out faster. Mingyu’s hand is still dripping with blood and he’s worried that whatever is growling in the darkness will smell it. He wonders if the creature still remembers him pleading to be killed, and if it would act on it.

Minghao drags him back into the brightly painted ice cream parlour. Mingyu blinks his eyes against the bright lights and turns around to look at Minghao, ready to say something — but what?

Minghao looks back with the same faint disinterest.

“Don’t come back here. Don’t mention what happened to anyone, you won’t like the consequences. And most importantly — don’t fuck up. You won’t like the consequences”

Mingyu’s mouth opens and closes like a fish’s as he searches for words.

“Now get the fuck out”, Minghao points at the door.

Mingyu scrambles out. When he turns to look back, all he sees is a boarded up store window.

  
  


* * *

His heart beats is in his throat like the bassline to a techno song — he’s just spotted the woman threading her way through the throng of people. He knows she’s not coming over to the bar for a refill of whatever cocktail she’s been enjoying, the burn of her gaze and the swaying of her hips gives her away. Her metallic dress shimmers as she slides next to him.

She leans forward, showcasing her ample bosom. 

“Buy me a drink”

“Why should I?”, his voice is smooth yet playful. This didn’t use to be an act, he really  _ was _ this cocky yet playful charmer at a point in his life.

“Because I can tell your hands started sweating when I came over”

“You got me”, he laughs easily. “What’s your poison?”

“Bloody Mary”

“Alright, a bloody mary for the seductress, please” 

She takes the glass as it’s handed to her and daintily lifts the celery stalk out. Her eyes bore into his as she puts the stalk in her mouth and sucks on it.

_ Christ. _

He lets out a shaky breath and giggles nervously. He’s going home with her tonight, he knows. Once she’s done fellating the celery stalk she steps in closer and puts her hand on his arm. There’s a million other flirty platitudes, and before long Mingyu’s swooping in to kiss her. He moves to her neck and whispers a low “What do you say we move somewhere more private?”. She giggles like a schoolgirl and flips her shiny black hair and then they’re moving through the crowds, into the cold night air. 

“My airbnb is just around the corner”

_ Airbnb! Great, no-one will notice her disappearance for a while. _

Her heels clack on the sidewalk as she leads him through the busy streets of Gangnam. They come to a building right next to a night club and she leads him into an alley where they trade sloppy kisses for a while before Mingyu pulls back and pretends he’s in a hurry to get her inside and undressed. In reality, he doesn’t want her to notice the distinct lack of an erection.

Once inside, she slips off the torture devices some people call shoes, and cozies up to Mingyu again. He pushes her towards the bed as they kiss until the backs of her knees hit the edge of it and she stumbles down. Mingyu climbs on top of her, his knees cradling her legs. One of the straps on her dress has slid down her arm, revealing even more of her breasts. Mingyu kisses down her neck and slides his hand from her hip up to cup her jaw. He pulls back abruptly, sitting back and putting his weight on her thighs. She opens her eyes and looks at him in confusion as Mingyu wraps his hand around her neck and squeezes. Her eyes fly wide open and she claws at Mingyu, her long acrylic nails leaving scratches leaving painful scratches on his hands and forearms. Mingyu marvels at her strength, it takes her a full ten minutes before her body slackens. With no time to waste, he carries her body to the bathroom, and is thankful that it’s equipped with a bathtub — at least  _ something _ is going his way.

He dumps her body unceremoniously in the tub, and winces only a little bit when her head hits the porcelain and her skull cracks. He strips down and leaves his clothes neatly folded just outside the bathroom. Naked and working on pure adrenaline, he goes into the sparkly clean kitchen and pumps his arm in excitement when he finds just what he needs: scissors, and a large glass bottle of whiskey. There’s even a funnel! With no time to waste, he empties the contents of the bottle into the sink, and pads back into the bathroom with the items.

He closes the door behind him and he sighs.  _ Finally. _

The scissors cut a straight line from the hem to the neckline, the straps snap easily and the shimmering fabric slides off of her body. As he’s waiting for the tub to fill with hot water, he smiles to himself. He’s so happy he feels like doing a little dance. He takes the razor she’s so carelessly set on the edge of the tub and carefully breaks it apart. Once most of her body is submerged, he pulls out an arm and presses the razor against the vein visible on the inside of her elbow. Time’s not on his side, but he still wants to savour the moment nonetheless. He sets the bottle and the funnel below the arm and slowly runs the blade down to her wrist and watches as the crimson liquid gushes out and drips into the bottle. He knows it will take time to collect enough blood so he takes to exploring the apartment. He finds the woman’s purse and digs around in search of her phone and credit card.

He scoffs when he sees the name printed on the card.  _ Delilah. How fitting. _ Her phone is locked, but he takes it back into the bathroom and presses her thumb on the home button. 

“Ahhh Delilah, you silly, silly girl. Did you really think this would be a secure method of protecting your phone? Well, no matter. Thanks for making my job easier for me”

He opens the airbnb app and smiles, not believing his luck when there’s an option to extend

her stay. Quickly he taps in and gives her an extra week to “enjoy” Seoul and wishes her credit card isn’t maxed out. When the payment goes through, he’s even happier! While Delilah bleeds dry in the bathroom, he empties out the fridge.  _ No sense in letting all this food go to waste. _

The bottle fills up quicker than he thought. He cleans up the funnel and puts it back where he found it. Luckily he was able to make it look like a suicide so he doesn’t have to clean up the bathroom. He slips into his clothes and steals away like a thief. 

_ Finally, a successful harvest. _


	3. The Choice Was Mine I Didn't Think Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse at Mingyu's first year under the contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is a short scene with a suicide attempt. It is the first two paragraphs after the second horizontal line break, towards the end of the chapter, should you wish to avoid it.
> 
> I had great difficulty putting what I wanted to happen in this chapter into words, so it's a bit clumsy at points! I don't have a beta so if you see any horribly glaring mistakes just mind your business lol

Mingyu wakes, feeling sated and serene. A successful hunt always gives him a post-orgasmic endorphin high. He doesn’t lie to himself anymore, he isn’t happy that he doesn’t have to kill — he’s happy that he doesn’t have to desperately try to pick up people in bars. He has become increasingly excitable over the act of killing, trying to find new and inventive ways to harvest as much as he can, as cleanly as possible. The only difficult part these days is cleaning the bones. They have to be soaked in hydrogen peroxide to reach a beautiful shade of white, but the timing is extremely precise. Soaking them for too long makes them brittle. 

Feet light on the worn plank floor, he makes his way towards the small kitchen, eyes crinkling at the corners at the sight of the bottle of Windsor he pilfered, glowing in the sun, lively ruby shades of vitality. It’ll start to clot soon, calling Mingyu to work. He takes a few running steps and slides the rest of the way in his house slippers, painfully bumping his hipbone against the kitchen counter after measuring the distance wrong. Hissing, he tips down and reaches into the bottom drawer, pulling out a handful of test tubes that tinkle happily as their round glass bottoms bounce together. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and starts pouring its contents into his _Spinzall._ He smiles bitterly and thinks of his mother, who’d no doubt complain about him buying something as useless as a culinary centrifuge, and the ” _Oh, if she only knew”_ , and then promptly stops thinking at all after his brain supplies him with ” _Well, now she never will, will she?”_.

He starts up on his breakfast, but the celebratory pancakes sizzling in the pan don’t smell delicious anymore, the sunlight is too bright and dull at the same time. The pancakes taste even worse, he can’t believe he managed to ruin the day before it even started. He has pushed himself into a tailspin of self loathing and if the way he drops his dirty plate into the sink and leaves it for later is anything to go by, isn’t planning on pulling himself out of it anytime today.

After Jeon Wonwoo strolled into his shop so quietly, like a cat hunting a mouse, Mingyu made sure to install a small bell above the door, so that he wouldn’t be caught unawares again. It is the tinkling of this very same bell that alerts him of the arrival of a customer. He shuffles out, emerging to the showroom to meet his patron from the previous week. The man looks severe in his immaculate pinstripe suit, and Mingyu still wonders if he’s one of Seungcheol’s men snr makes a mental note to ask. Just in case.  
  


”Ah, Wonwoo-ssi! Welcome back! Are you here to see the blueprints?”

Wonwoo’s lips quirk up, a soft smile, barely there and too gentle to be offered to a man with as much blood on his hands as Mingyu. 

“Good morning, Mingyu-ssi. I am indeed here to look at the blueprints”

Mingyu beckons him closer as he spreads the large sheets of parchment on the table. As Wonwoo bends down to look at them more closely, Mingyu catches a whiff of what must be his cologne. It makes him think of the sunny days he spent at the beach when he was a kid. It’s disorienting and makes his breath catch in his throat and bringing his focus back to Wonwoo’s murmured questions takes all the willpower he has. Mingyu finds that Wonwoo is a lot sharper than his usual customers, which is both a tad unsettling and a welcome change to the rich elite that stroll in throwing money at him and barely looking at the furniture he makes for them. He doesn’t feel remorse for taking them to Seungcheol, but a brief divinatory strike, he feels like this will be different. Something about the presence of Wonwoo makes the fine hairs at the base of Mingyu’s skull stand up, and he scans the man’s face warily. This is the first contract he feels apprehensive about.

He waits until Wonwoo’s long legs have carried him over the threshold and the bell above the door has tinkled lightly as the closing door brushes against it, before he collapses into the nearest chair. He jots down a quick note about ordering in more wood and remains in his chair, chewing the end of his pencil as he contemplates his next step. He needs to go to the headquarters to make sure Wonwoo isn’t some distant limb of Seungcheol’s sprawling organisation of petty thugs and demons. 

At 3 a.m, he stands at a crossroads, staring down a familiar market street. In the past six years, instead of being modernised and growing livelier, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood have scattered, moving into gentrified areas closer to modern attractions, the small mom and pop shops have gone under, and the buildings lining the narrow street are dilapidated, crumbling and rotting with the ticking of time. In any other situation Mingyu would question why the city council hasn’t stepped in, but he sees Seungcheol’s handprints all over this. Especially since the flickering lights declaring _Scoops!_ at the end lead him to an ice cream parlour that looks as fresh and new as it did six years ago. He can see a figure balancing precariously on a tipped chair, languidly eating ice cream out of a garish pink plastic cup. Mingyu’s arms are already covered in goosebumps. He’ll always lie and say it’s due to the temperature and nothing else — he’s been an unwilling member of the crew for too long to not get bullied mercilessly if the truth would come out.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t Mephistopheles junior!”“I wish the ‘impermanence’ part of your title referred to your presence in my life, and not to your customers”, Mingyu sighs.The telltale tightening behind his eyes signals the coming of a migraine.

“Aww, you’re no fun these days. I kind of wish you’d go back to the crying and begging” 

“I assume the boss is in since you’re out here giving me migraines” 

Mingyu moves towards the back of the room and as he’s pushing aside the heavy curtain hiding the bridge through the eighteen hells, he hears the little imp call back to him.

“A simple ‘Hi Jun’ would suffice, you know!”

Despite plugging his ears with his fingers, Mingyu can still hear the sounds of the torture the souls of the dead are put through. He keeps his eyes trained on the light at the end of the tunnel and moves towards it with silvery steps, light and fast. Only when he starts hearing the straying notes of a falsetto clear as a glass bell, does he dare breathe. He steps into the deceptive warmth of Seungcheol’s office and tries not to balk at the sight of him with his head pillowed in the lap of a young man with a slight build and glittering silver hair, listening to the quiet notes of a song so tender it makes Mingyu’s heart ache for something he unknowingly gave up at seventeen, in favour of riches. The song tapers off at Mingyu’s appearance and the man acting as Seungcheol’s pillow taps him on the shoulder softly.

”Babe, it seems like Kim Mingyu is here to see you”  
  
Seungcheol scrunches his face up in a petulant expression that makes him look so young and human that no-one would fault you for thinking he can’t possibly be the king of the underworld.

“ _Again?!”_

“I- I’m sorry sir I just um I needed to check something”

Seungcheol lifts himself off the little sofa tucked into the corner of his office and walks to sit down at his desk. Mingyu tries not to smile at the massive cowlick his boss is sporting— it wouldn’t do to remind Seungcheol of his humanity when he’s already annoyed with you.

“Out with it”  
  
“Um, so, uh. I have a new customer and he um. I just wanted to check if he’s part of your staff…”  
  
“Really? You came here for _this_ ?! ”  
  
“I’m sorry sir... but he’s worn the same suit as everyone in the family does and I don’t recognise him so I thought it best to come directly to you”  
  


“What’s the customer’s name then?”  
  
“Um, Jeon Wonwoo, sir”  
  


Seungcheol bursts into great giggles at the mention of the name, and from his left, Mingyu hears the silver-haired siren snort unattractively. He’s confused and more than a little scared — he’s never seen his boss react like this.

“Ahhh… that was a good one! I can’t believe I tasked you with collecting music when you can’t even recognise one of the biggest names in Korean indie!”  
  
Mingyu flushes and bows so fast that he hits his forehead on the edge of Seungcheol’s desk. He winces, but manages to still grind out an apology.

”I’m sorry for wasting your time, sir! Please spare me!”

Seungcheol laughs softly and commands Mingyu to straighten himself.

”Relax, there’s still a few years left on your contract and as I still need your services, I won’t be taking you on a tour of the mansion. _Yet._ However, if you fail to bring Jeon Wonwoo to me, it might very well be an option I might pursue”

It’s an empty threat, Mingyu knows. The contract is such that once he’s gotten a customer to approve his sketches, they are just as bound by the magic of the hell king as he himself is.

He apologises quietly again and starts his trek past the eighteen rooms of torture once more. This time he doesn’t need to plug his ears against the sounds of the mortal souls going through damnation, for he is followed by the siren song of Seungcheol’s bride.

As he lifts the curtain to step out into the parlour, he sees Minghao and Junhui sitting close together, heads ducked down, exchanging soft words. The scene between the two guardians is too intimate and Mingyu is once again reminded of the lonely fate he so foolishly brought upon himself.

The flickering lights of the bus throttling carelessly towards Seoul make the budding migraine bloom into life behind Mingyu’s eyes. He swallows against the nausea creating waves in his stomach and focuses on counting his breaths in an effort to redirect his racing thoughts away from the sprawling hallways of Seungcheol’s mansion, and the cloyingly sweet scent of _Scoops!_.

His body feels heavy, out of place in the hopeful dawn, not quite friends with the sun rising from beyond the horizon, creating warmth and banishing away the cold shadows of the night. 

He finds his way home on autopilot and lets exhaustion coax him into fitful sleep.

* * *

He approaches the little stand offering folk remedies and _Saju_ readings, tucked in between a stall selling knock-off designer bags and another one advertising customised bedazzled tie-dye shirts. The same scrawny kid with an impish smile and a sharp nose sits behind the little table draped in velvet.

”Well hello, hello! Fancy seeing you here again”

There’s a smile thrown his way, it’s that of a shit-stirrer — overconfident and self-satisfied. Mingyu feels like he’s doing something illicit, and hopes that the adults around don’t notice the nervous sweat on his brow, and the shifty, not-so-subtle looks he keeps throwing over his shoulder. He comes to a stop in front of the table and leans in so that he doesn’t have to announce his highly disturbing extracurricular activities to all of Gwangmyeong.

”Listen, I think. Uh. I need to contact Choi Seungcheol”, he feels a hot flush rising up the back of his neck. It’s panic that he tries not to show.

”Sure thing! For a chat beyond the veil I’ll need two hundred thousand won and a personal memento of some sort! Hair, teeth and nail clippings work the best if you happen to have any”

”He’s not— wait, nail clippings?! Do people actually keep those?”

”Oh yeah! Nail clippings, pubic hair, used condoms and tissues… You’d be surprised at how far people will go to hold onto a loved one. I even heard some guy actually made a doll out of his dead husband’s corpse!” The tone is way too chipper and Mingyu chooses to ignore the borderline manic glint in the young man’s eyes. 

”That’s um. That’s disturbing…”

”I know, right?” The smile is still there, Pepsodent-white teeth, looking eerie as they glimmer, too bright in the shade provided by the ample draping around the booth. Mingyu’s brain supplies him with a flashback memory to a Phineas and Ferb episode and he gives his head a small shake to banish Chip Skylark’s criminally catchy jingle. The melody makes Mingyu feel like he’s losing his grip on reality. He licks his lips and swallows, preparing to ask the kid manning the booth something absolutely ridiculous _again._

”Okay so he’s not— I don’t think he’s beyond the veil? He kind of. He runs an ice cream parlour that I’m pretty sure is a front for something at that crossroads you sent me to last time and I’m not quite sure if he’s like, actually Satan or if he’s a mob boss but I need to contact him”, there’s a tremor in his voice that betrays him, and he feels like a heavy gaze has been leveled at his back. 

”So you need to get in contact with a person who may be the King of the Underworld _or_ just a mob boss with a weird front?”

Mingyu presses his lips together at the way he’s being spoken to, not quite sure if the teasing in the boy’s voice is meant to be taken lightly. He breathes out through his nose harshly and gets poised to dismiss his query and leave. He’ll find another way.

”I don’t know much about mob bosses and I have a feeling the Devil won’t answer just anyone’s call but you might be able to summon a low-level demon with some goat’s blood and a few talismans”

”Okay um. Where do I get them? What do I do?”

Hours later, after the sun has fallen below the horizon and the blades of grass in their backyard have been covered in dew, Mingyu sits in the garage of a small house in Anyang, hoping his parents sleep soundly tonight. His heart beats in his throat as he dips his brush in the goat’s blood that he picked up from the butcher’s. It’s thicker and darker than the blood he sees in movies, and the metallic smell seems to invade his mouth. The first drag of the brush calms him down some and his focus shifts and solidifies. Just like the fortune teller’s son told him, he starts the circle from the centre, moving outwards, making sure that none of his limbs are in it when he closes it. He sets an upward-facing mirror in the middle of the seven-pointed star and black candles at its point. He wears a cross around his neck, just in case. Once the candles are lit, he focuses his attention towards the mirror, and starts singing low and throaty. 

” _Christ._ Please stop that, it’s giving me a headache”

Mingyu whips his head around so fast he loses his balance, falls onto his back and kicks over a candle that flickers out as it touches the cold stone floor of the garage. The unimpressed face of the elven-eared gangster he met at _Scoops!_ some months ago stares down at him. As Mingyu struggles to straighten himself out, the other man focuses his attention on the summoning circle and barks out a laugh.

”Ahh I see the White Guard still likes to play tricks on you mortals"

”The what?”

”My partner, The White Guard of Impermanence. Obviously that makes me the Black Guard” The man introduces himself with a self-satisfaction mirroring that of the White Guard’s, albeit with a tad more ridicule in his voice.

”Wait so the boy—? He works for Choi Seungcheol too?”

”Ah, so you _do_ connect the dots occasionally. Yes, he works for Seunghceol as well”

Mingyu, still sitting on the cold floor, spends a moment digesting the information he was just provided, wondering how many other members of the Devil’s crew are hiding in plain sight at the periphery of his life.

”Time’s up kid” The black guard claps his hands together ”What did you call me for?”

”Oh! Right, er, when is the contract going to start working? Cause I haven’t gotten a single customer yet. I even put up an etsy store, and my profile only has six views!”

”Did you really think it would be that easy?”

”Well, yes?”

The Black Guard pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. 

”Read the fine print, kid” he says, before disappearing in a plume of rancid smoke. 

* * *

He’s stuck in the moment between late night and dawn, shaking out the last droplets of red wine— from the bottle to his tongue, _with love_ . The colour, the tangy bitterness that remains at the back of his throat long after the aftertaste of sour grapes has bid him adieu,reminds him too much of _work_ , but then again work is what drove him here.

He’s only twenty-one but he feels so much older, wearier. He’s only twenty-one, but the list of his sins reaches further than what the Bible could describe. He’s only twenty-one, but he’s deeply unhappy. Lonely and haunted, he has decided to bow out. 

He was too lazy to turn off the radio, and as he looks at his hands, blood caked under the short, bitten down fingernails, the ever-cheerful _ABBA_ mocks him from the corner of the showroom. Oh how wrong they were about life in the rich man’s world. So very, very wrong.

His head feels heavy, so he sets it down on the table. His neck and back are bent uncomfortably, but he knows it won’t be long now before it all stops mattering, not long at all. He closes his eyes as he feels his breathing grow shallower. It’s comfortable, like drifting to a light sleep. Maybe he’ll finally have peace.

He’s rudely awoken by a slap to his face, he’s never been slapped before and it hurts a lot more than he thought it would. He tries to focus his bleary eyes and perhaps it’s the meds, but his thoughts move at a snail’s pace and his brain doesn’t quite register what his eyes take in. It’s dark and cold and shivers rack his body. His cheek rests on the familiar plank flooring of his shop, and the smell of wood chippings, once comforting, now only manages to make him nauseated. 

“Time to wake up, kid”, comes the voice of the Black Guard. Mingyu tries to lift his head up to face him. 

“Wh-?” His tongue feels like cotton, dry and heavy in his mouth. He tries to swallow around it, but chokes. He barely gets up on his knees before he vomits violently, old red wine smelling bitter, making Mingyu hope it to be his own blood instead. The Black Guard sighs in exasperation, like he does so often when he’s dealing with Mingyu.

“You tried to break the contract”

“I… Yeah” 

“Did you really think it would be this easy?”, these words are an echo of a previous discussion, and Mingyu feels as foolish as he did then.  
  
“No, not really. But I hoped… I don’t know what really. To negotiate, maybe”  
  
“Negotiate?”  
  
“I just. I can’t do it anymore” His voice breaks, pearls of tears crawling down his cheeks, hot and heavy, dropping onto the floor and mixing with the puddle of vomit. The weight of the secrets he’s been keeping feels like it’s going to crush him, the things he’s had to do creating a chasm between him and the people around him, the only ones close to touch the lost and the corrupted — his customers. The Black Guard looks down at him, fiddling with his leather gloves, eyes almost sympathetic.

“Please, I’ll trade my soul for it, I’ll become His slave. Anything, I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to kill anymore” It feels good to cry, even if it’s in front of a demon. 

“You’ve already traded in your soul. I told you to read the fine print, didn’t I?”

Hopelessness grips Mingyu by the throat, suffocating, a black hole sucking the fight out of him. He weeps more, begs more, incoherent and inconsolable. The Black Guard squats down next to Mingyu, scrunching his nose up against the putrid smell of regurgitated red wine.

“Listen, kid. I know how you feel. Trust me, I’ve been there” Mingyu lifts his head up suddenly at that, eyes roaming over the demon’s face, searching for ridicule perhaps but finding a clear maskless sincerity.

“It was at some point of the Ming dynasty. My father was a blacksmith but he died before he had the chance to teach the craft to me…. My family became homeless and impoverished” The Black Guard’s face is a blank mask of indifference again, but his voice quivers. 

“One day a beautiful nobleman dressed in foreign clothing of the most peculiar shade of blue stopped me in the street. He told me he knew my father, and that he wanted to offer me dinner. Young and desperate, I took the chance to get a proper meal. He explained to me that he knew a blacksmith that would teach me so that I could restart my father’s business”

Mingyu nods along, showing that he’s still listening.

“I became a skilled blacksmith and built my father’s business back from the ground up. When I turned sixteen, he showed up again and promised me riches, and greedily I accepted. At a point I stopped sharing profits with my family who eventually died of malnutrition” At this, a split-second of remorse flickers in the Black Guard’s eyes, and Mingyu’s stomach flips in mild horror — how long has it been since he called his mother?

“Eventually ten years was up and the boss gave me two options: die without going through purgatory or become the Black Guard who guides souls through the eighteen rooms of hell. And here I am”

Mingyu lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. The Black Guard seems to sag, like an emptying balloon.

“So, the knife….? When Seungcheol said it was made by someone like me, he meant you?”  
  
“Yes. A cursed knife made by a cursed soul, the wind that keeps the pinwheel spinning”

Minutes stretch as Mingyu digests the Guard’s story. His confession of guilt, this show of humanity buried deep down feels like a thread tying them together. A secret for a secret.

“You’re part of the crew now, like it or not.. A year of sins weighs heavy and you have a long uphill climb ahead of you but you _must_ carry out the contract”

“What if I just stop?”  
  
“Then you’ll get a tour of the mansion and however long you’re… _incapacitated_ for, will be added to your contract”

The Black Guard straightens out and claps a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder in a gesture that’s perhaps meant to be comforting. Mingyu looks up at him and sighs, heavy and hopeless. The Guard stops and looks at him appraisingly.

“Give me your phone”  
  
Mingyu, so confused he doesn’t think to question it, hands his phone to the Guard who types something in quickly before returning the device. There’s a quirk of lips that could be interpreted as a smile.

“It’s not very late yet, you should shower and go to bed”, comes the almost brotherly suggestion, before Mingyu’s left coughing in the sulfury cloud of smoke that signals the departure of the demon. 

As soon as the smoke has disappeared, Mingyu, still sitting on the floor, goes through his phone, stopping in astoundment when he notices the new contact: _Xu Minghao_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a little bit of background on Minghao, as well as some worldbuilding. As you can probably tell, I've combined elements from different mythologies and religions to build this version of the underworld - Seungcheol also prefers to keep his organisation up-to-date and tries to match the era they're in! I hope it's not too confusing.


	4. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingyu makes a fool out of himself, Wonwoo stares

It’s raining. It’s been raining for  _ days _ , actually, and each subsequent morning of waking up to the incessant drumming of raindrops on his bedroom window, Mingyu grows more and more miserable. Rain never suited him before, he used to be so warm and full of life, but the weight of his actions and the weight of knowing his body count is going to keep growing, climbing from the hundreds to tens of thousands and nothing he or anyone else does will stop it has beat him down. He doesn’t deserve the sun anymore, but he wishes he did so bad that his heart aches.

  
Since the last hunt, thoughts he’s managed to keep in neat little boxes, stored away at the back of his mind for years have gotten loose and are now taking up space, writhing like an ever-expanding knot of mating snakes, slithering into every nook and cranny of his mind. He tries not to think of his family, he tries not to think of Joshua and most of all he tries not to think of the fact that he’s only happy after he kills. He goes through the days pretending he’s not the monster he is, because acknowledging it would mean acknowledging that there’s no way out for him. He’ll keep working until the the ten-year contract is up and then Minghao and Jun will come with the dog and he’ll be dragged through the purgatory of the eighteen hells over and over until his sins have been wrung out of him in the form of blood, sweat and tears and then he’ll just…. stop existing. 

His shop feels larger and emptier than usual, slabs of lumber lying around, furniture in different states of completion, his silent, lifeless companions. Normally the smell of wood chips calms him down, but the damp and cold seeping in from the outside along with his dark ruminations makes it all feel suffocating. He came down with the intention of working but has only managed to sit on the floor and stare at the pile of lumber that needs to be cut. The tinkle of a bell sounding from the front of the shop forces him out of his depressive stupor. There’s no door between the showroom and the workshop meaning that as soon as Wonwoo takes a few steps into the store, he’s able to see Mingyu sitting on the floor in his worn grey sweatpants and the oversized hoodie still bearing tomato sauce stains from Mingyu making spaghetti without an apron. Wonwoo’s not wearing the suit today, and Mingyu’s glad cause this would’ve been the second time he’s woefully underdressed.

For a beat they both just blink at each other, until Wonwoo breaks the spell and sets down a paper cup on the shop counter. Mingyu’s eyes are drawn to the action, and move slowly, uncertainly, from the cup to the man standing in front of him. Wonwoo is holding a cup as well, and a small paper bag bearing the logo of a bakery. Mingyu knows the place, and he knows the gesture as well. Once upon a time a young Joshua Hong burst through his door, bearing a little paper bag just like that, introducing himself as the owner of the new bakery down the street. Mingyu clambers up slowly and walks to the counter.

  
He grabs the drink warily and sighs when the warmth of it spreads through his fingertips. Wonwoo leans on the counter, smiling in that almost-there way of his and nudges the paper bag towards Mingyu.    
It gets more awkward by the second, a snowball effect of Mingyu’s distrust in the offered beverage and Wonwoo’s inability to start a conversation. After a beat or two Wonwoo takes a big slurping sip of his own drink —a thinly veiled passive aggressive gesture that makes Mingyu’s ears hot. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to conduct business with Wonwoo without thoroughly embarrassing himself. If Wonwoo’s not going to talk, neither is he, he decides and digs out one of the pastries Wonwoo brought, stuffing half of it in his mouth with great flourish, getting flakes of puff pastry all over his already stained hoodie. Wonwoo lifts an eyebrow, and the ghost of a smile spreads into something more. Mingyu has difficulty swallowing and it’s not just the croissant he’s choking on

“I was um. I was in the neighbourhood”, Wonwoo says, voice flat. Mingyu tries to speak around the half eaten pastry, giving Wonwoo a muffled “ _ Hohhkay” _ , spraying soggy, chewed up crumbs over the counter. Wonwoo flinches and looks like he really wants to tell Mingyu off, but perhaps they’re not acquainted well enough for that. 

“Truthfully I… don’t quite know why I came to this neighbourhood” Wonwoo looks so much smaller, gentler, in his soft sweater and Mingyu thinks this look suits the soft spoken man a lot better. 

After swallowing his croissant with great difficulty, Mingyu nods. 

“Is there something about the bed you want to discuss?”   
  
“No, not really” 

“Can I, uhh, help you with something else?”   
  
“Not really but I um. I forgot my umbrella?” It sounds like an excuse, but Mingyu does note a droplet running down the smooth skin of his cheek. It’s hypnotising and Mingyu wishes he had the permission to stare some more. 

“Well the shop’s technically open so feel free to wait it out in the showroom”

With that, Mingyu goes to work, feeling guilty about procrastinating with Wonwoo in his store. The awkward silence falls on them like a heavy blanket of snow, but Mingyu no longer feels like he’s suffocating.

The glare of the streetlights flooding in and the ache in Mingyu’s muscles tells him he’s been at work too long. He stretches and glances towards the front of the store, where Wonwoo’s dozing gently in an armchair. The fact that someone can look so peaceful among the cursed furniture forms a knot in his chest. The rain has only gotten worse, and is now pouring down in angry sheets, nearly flooding the streets. Mingyu jogs up the stairs to his apartment and manages to find an umbrella that’s in good condition.

He slips back downstairs and approaches Wonwoo, trying to coax him out of slumber.

“Wonwoo-ssi…. Wonwoo-ssi please wake up” Getting only annoyed grunts in response, he resorts to poking Wonwoo gently with the umbrella.

“Mhhh what’s up?” 

“Wonwoo-ssi, it’s getting late. I need to close up” That wakes him up properly, and he straightens out in the chair, wincing a little at the twinge in his neck.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep”   
  
“That’s okay”

Wonwoo’s faster than Mingyu thought and he has to grab his arm in order to stop him. Wonwoo looks at the hand with an unreadable expression on his face, and when he looks up at Mingyu there’s something stronger behind his eyes. The suffocating press is back in Mingyu’s chest, and he has difficulty forcing out words.

“Umbrella”

“What?”   
  
Mingyu lifts up the object in question and thrusts it towards Wonwoo, ending up poking him in the stomach with it.

“It’s raining again, take my umbrella”

Wonwoo stares and Mingyu’s attention flickers towards his lips for a second — it’s just because his mouth is open and he looks silly like that. Nothing else. Wonwoo looks like he’s about to object before he glances outside quickly. 

“Thank you”

Wonwoo wraps his hand around the umbrella and Mingyu really should let go, the interaction should end here, but they’re both rooted in place, each of them having a hand on the umbrella. The spell is only broken with the chime of Wonwoo’s phone, and Mingyu lets go of the umbrella as if it’s burning his hand. He steps back too quickly, tripping on his own feet and hitting his tailbone painfully as he collides with a night stand on display. It dislodges a memory — he used to make a joke of his clumsiness anytime it happened in front of others, but he thinks he might not know how to laugh anymore. Wonwoo’s expression warps comically, eyes wide like an owl’s and there’s a small puff of air followed by another, and when he brings a hand to cover his mouth it’s clear that he’s laughing. His laugh is surprisingly high compared to his otherwise deep voice and Mingyu thinks it’s quite nice to listen to and suddenly the humiliation of being a walking talking slapstick act doesn’t feel so bad anymore.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” 

It’s clear that Wonwoo’s trying very hard to stop laughing, and the attempt manages to make Mingyu crack a genuine smile — something he hasn’t done in a long while. There’s a feeling in his chest, warm and happy, pleased that he made Wonwoo laugh.

“Yeah, yeah… I meant to do that! It’s uh, part of the service”   
  
Wonwoo laughs even harder, scrunching up his nose and Mingyu thinks he might just make it a part of the service. At least for Wonwoo.

“Well, I’m... I really need to get going. Sorry for loitering in your shop for so long”   
  
“It’s cool, really, I don’t mind. You’re shelling out a small fortune, feel free to loiter”

  
  


Turns out Wonwoo takes Mingyu seriously, and returns to the shop a few days later. He’s dressed in an oversized sweater and a grey beanie and Mingyu’s glad. He likes the soft look. 

This time Mingyu’s dressed appropriately — he’s been making sure he comes down to the shop floor looking presentable, purely out of professionalism and nothing else. Or so he tells himself.

“Ah, Wonwoo-ssi!”   
  
“I came to return this”, Wonwoo says in the form of a greeting, gently setting the umbrella Mingyu gave to him.

“Oh you didn’t have to return it!” 

Wonwoo flushes and drops his eyes down, clearing his throat a little.

“Yeah, well. I have all the money in the world to buy umbrellas…” 

Mingyu forgets to reply and stares instead.

“Can I encroach on your shop again?”   
  


“Um.. sure? I’m going to be working in the back but knock yourself out”

“I can’t write at home” Wonwoo offers, and Mingyu cocks his head to the side, confused.

“I um, I can’t write at home but I can’t really go to a café without being interrupted and nobody really… nobody really comes here. No offence”

“Oh uh, none taken. My customers don’t really come here anymore, they have their managers call me and send some nameless, faceless workers to pick things up once their orders are ready”   
  
Wonwoo seems confused by that, and Mingyu remembers that Wonwoo is seemingly unaware of his reputation as the carpenter for the stars. Mingyu gives him a shrug and a smile. 

“Make yourself at home, I’m gonna be in the back”

Wonwoo nods and Mingyu’s eyes follow him to the armchair by the window, where he curls up like a cat, whipping out a small notebook and an honest-to-god fountain pen. It takes considerable effort for Mingyu to tear his eyes off of the sight and turn his back on Wonwoo.

They continue in silence, this time only a little awkward due to the distance between them and eventually Mingyu’s focus gets pulled into his work and only the tinkling of the silver bell by the door breaks it. He peeks out just in time to see Wonwoo striding past the showroom window with purpose. He knows they weren’t exactly socialising but it still stings that Wonwoo would just up and leave without a goodbye. He doesn’t really understand it, and turns back to the pile of lumber with renewed purpose — if he exhausts himself physically he doesn’t have to take stock of his stupid thoughts. Mingyu keeps sawing, sweat trickling his brow and doesn’t notice the bell before Wonwoo clears his throat behind him. Mingyu lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream and drops the saw painfully on his foot. When he turns around he sees Wonwoo holding in laughter with another paper bag. 

“I went to get something to eat and uh, I have one sandwich left over. You can um. You can eat it if you want” Mingyu stares, intelligently with his mouth open and approaches the little bag as if it’s a bomb rigged to go off any minute. Mingyu’s a bit surprised by the fact that it’s  _ exactly _ what he’d order — an egg sandwich with potato and cabbage and a special sauce with ketchup and strawberry jam. He looks at Wonwoo questioningly — is it possible for someone else to like the same freak sandwich as him? Wonwoo notices him staring and lifts his head up from his little notebook. Mingyu lifts up the sandwich in a toast of sorts.

“Thanks” 

  
  


Wonwoo stays in his chair, scribbling furiously until the sun starts setting and the shop gets too dark to write in. Something in Mingyu senses when Wonwoo stands up and he hurries out to the showroom to send Wonwoo off. Their goodbyes are as awkward as ever, but Wonwoo’s eyes are warm and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile again. 

That night, Mingyu has difficulty sleeping but it’s not nightmares that keep him awake, staring at his ceiling. 

  
  
  


Wonwoo and Mingyu continue like that, Wonwoo coming to the shop to write or read, Mingyu working in the back, trying to ignore the need to look. He’s seen how the light falls on Wonwoo, how it draws a glowing outline, how Wonwoo sometimes falls asleep in the beam of sunshine, so much like a cat. Mingyu notices the way Wonwoo’s normally so rigid shoulders sag and relax in his sleep, how the area around his eyes no longer looks pinched and he wonders what he escapes from in his sleep.

On some days Mingyu forgoes work and just chats with Wonwoo. He knows it’s a risk, he knows he shouldn’t, but after so many empty years, he  _ yearns. _ He has Minghao to talk to, Jun as well, but it’s not like this. They’ve all seen too much, sinned too much to be able to exist like this, to be able to talk and laugh without the things they’ve done hanging over their heads like dark clouds. Mingyu wonders how the sins scuffing his soul aren’t visible on the outside, how Wonwoo doesn’t catch the shadow that passes over his face at the mention of friends, family, purpose. Mingyu however doesn’t miss the lonely edge that Wonwoo’s voice sometimes takes, and despite not being able to tell Wonwoo that he knows what it’s like when you can’t make friends due to your profession, he hopes Wonwoo picks up on the silent  _ I understand _ Mingyu tries to convey with his whole being.

Mingyu knows that the floating feeling he gets during the days can only last so long before he crashes and burns. He sleeps even less than he used to, lying awake night after night, tossing and turning and trying to make sense of the situation, of his thoughts, more jumbled than ever. He has panic attacks and when he does sleep, he wakes up to his own screams, shaky and clammy with cold sweat.

  
Still, this is the closest to happiness Mingyu can get. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was bit of a filler but I hope you enjoyed meanie being awkward!


	5. Just Like The Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonwoo takes a step forward, Mingyu takes three steps back.

Wonwoo is now a permanent fixture at the shop, slowly opening up, often choosing to leave his notebook untouched in favour of chatting with Mingyu. The radio is off, Mingyu doesn’t need it to ward off oppressing silence anymore. They talk and talk, and Mingyu starts to peel back the layers of who Wonwoo is. It gets harder to keep secrets, to keep the distance, to make sure he doesn’t get attached. After all, Wonwoo is prey just like everyone else. Technically, Wonwoo is Seungcheol’s property now, just like Mingyu. Both of their souls, sold away on a technicality of a technicality hidden in the terms and conditions of a contract signed in haste. He knows not being able to love is his punishment, and despite knowing better, he sometimes hopes that when his life comes to an end, there’ll be an embrace, a kiss, the warmth of a human being who cares for him.    
  


It’s a Sunday, and technically the shop’s not open, but when Wonwoo shows up at his door at 10 a.m, Mingyu lets him in. There’s a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of blueberry cheesecake, and Mingy finds out that butterflies aren’t just a silly trope. They swarm and flutter in Mingyu’s stomach, filling it with the flapping of their tiny wings. Mingyu pretends he’s just happy about getting free cake.

Sunsets come earlier now, as if the sun was escaping the biting late October winds too. As the days grow shorter, so does the amount of time Wonwoo can feasibly spend in the shop. Their goodbyes linger, awkward half hugs lasting a beat too long to be appropriate for friends. Every time Wonwoo opens the door to exit, cold air surges in and Mingyu shivers down to his bones as he watches the other man’s retreating back. The cold always lingers. 

Mingyu gets tired of the cold, tired of the long nights. How could he live with himself if he didn’t try to grasp what’s been dangling right in front of his face? 

“Well. It’s getting dark I think I should—”   
  
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”, the words stumble out before he can even think about it. Wonwoo stops, the movement of rising from the armchair he’s claimed halted. Mingyu almost has time to regret asking, before Wonwoo speaks up.   
  
“Of— of course”

Mingyu jogs up the stairs, faster than Wonwoo who follows him. The lights flicker on and for the first time it feels like the it reaches the corners of the room. He ushers Wonwoo into one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and starts rummaging around for ingredients.   
  
“Oh uh. Is— is ramen okay? Turns out I forgot to go grocery shopping…”, Mingyu feels embarrassment creep red and burning hot, up his neck to the tip of his ears.    
  
“So you called me up for ramen, huh?”, Wonwoo jokes as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Mingyu flushes even more. He wracks his brain for an equally flirty and jokey response but ends up stuttering a lame denial. He’s glad for the spicy broth on the ramen since he can always use it as an excuse for the redness of his cheeks. Despite Mingyu’s shyness, the conversation starts flowing again and in a matter of minutes the awkward atmosphere warps into something warm. Something  _ homey _ . 

* * *

October runs into November, November runs into December and Mingyu’s thoughts involuntarily turn to Christmas. He’s grateful for the distraction Wonwoo offers, and angry when he gets left alone in the evenings after their dinners. It’s not Wonwoo’s fault, of course it isn’t, but Mingyu is bitter and lonely, only capable of self-hatred. He tries to keep Wonwoo’s soft sweaters and the way the too-long sleeves curl over his palms and fingers in his mind in the evenings, tries to ward off the night with the lingering images of the day. He almost succeeds.  _ Almost _ .

It’s a week before Christmas and Wonwoo seems quieter than normal, fidgety, almost skittish. The back of Mingyu’s neck feels prickly, he has the feeling that Wonwoo’s trying to gather up the courage to say something. 

Eventually he does. 

“Mingyu”, he looks down at Mingyu who’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the chair Wonwoo’s sitting in.   
  
“Mm?”   
  
“Do you… I mean. Um. I know you said you and your family aren’t really in contact anymore…”

Mingyu straightens up, an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his throat. He’s been very careful about the information he’s given to Wonwoo, making sure the details are vague.

“Uh. Yeah”   
  
“Did you… did you celebrate Chuseok?” 

Mingyu had celebrated it, albeit a bit lazily. After that fateful night that led to Minghao telling Mingyu about how he became a Guard of Impermanence, the Two Guards have appeared on Mingyu’s doorstep on every major holiday and they have dinner, like a fucked up found family. For obvious reasons, Mingyu can’t introduce them to Wonwoo, so he lies.

“Not really. I cooked some galbijjim after work and called it a day”   
  
Wonwoo looks sad at that, but not pitying, never pitying,and Mingyu senses that it might be a sadness Wonwoo has already been carrying in his heart.

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?”   
  


“No, not really”, not a lie but not the truth either.

“Would you like to… have dinner with me? I don’t want you to be alone”

The ending of the sentence is mumbled almost incoherently. Wonwoo’s ears are red and he’s looking resolutely behind Mingyu, not at him.   
  
_ I don’t want you to be alone. _

“Is that—” Mingyu licks his lips, a nervous habit. His hands are sweating and he tries to discreetly wipe them on his jeans. “Would that really be okay?”

Mingyu holds his breath, waiting for Wonwoo to snort and call him a dumbass at this point, pointing out that he wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t mean it, but Wonwoo deviates from the norm and lifts his eyes. He looks deep into Mingyu’s and Mingyu’s heart beats, trying to climb into his mouth. 

“Yes, of course”   
  
“I— thank you”   
  
Wonwoo’s gaze is so sincere, so tender, and Mingyu doesn’t know how to feel. 

_ I don’t want you to be alone. _

His heart doesn’t stop beating wildly even with Wonwoo’s departure, but continues to drum its steady tattoo deep into the night.

* * *

He’s sitting in  _ Scoops! _ and avoiding Minghao’s eyes by shoveling ice cream into his mouth. 

“Are you trying to get out of the contract by causing yourself the worst brain freeze the human kind has seen?”

He’s joking but they both know he knows something’s up. Mingyu reaches the bottom of his frankly gargantuan sundae and tries to speak through the clattering of his teeth.

“I can’t— can’t do Christmas this year”

Minghao cocks his head and looks at Mingyu.

“And why is that?”   
  
“Just— just kinda wanna be alone this year”

Minghao’s expression grows worried.

“Mingyu. Are you…” Minghao swallows the rest of the sentence, looking pinched and worried, searching for a better expression. Mingyu knows what he was asking though.  _  
  
_

_ Are you struggling again? _ _  
  
_

“No it’ not that, I just kinda want some alone time. Plus it’ll be good for you and Jun! You can spend it together, all romantic and shit”   
  
“Riiight…” 

There’s a cocked eyebrow.  _ Minghao knows _ . Mingyu knew he would and that’s exactly why he chose to tell him here, where he knows Minghao can’t press for the truth. Mingyu almost feels guilty about using Minghao’s brotherly protectiveness against him, but he needs this. It’ll be his last chance at chasing happiness and he knows it.

* * *

Mingyu knows now that Wonwoo is famous, but he doesn’t actually know  _ how _ famous. He’s been curious, of course he has, but since they’ve formed a tentative friendship with the both of them acting as if they’re just regular members of the general public, he hasn’t wanted to ruin that. Wonwoo leads him through the narrow streets, away from the quaint little shops, towards the hum of the city. When he stops at a parked Hyundai, Mingyu can’t help but let out a low whistle. It isn’t a flashy sports car, but the bright chrome rims and the creamy leather upholstery give away the fact that it’s very clearly a luxury vehicle. 

As he’s fastening his seatbelt, there’s a flash of light, bright and gone in half a second. Wonwoo curses and slams the door shut, he’s strapped in in an instant and the car is peeling away, accelerating until they have to slow down and mix in with the rest of the evening traffic.

  
_ Huh, I guess he really is famous. _

The drive is silent but not uncomfortable — after all, they’ve shared silence for months now. Wonwoo takes the intersection to  Pyeonchang-dong, a notoriously wealthy neighbourhood, and Mingyu starts feeling jittery. His hands feel cold and clammy, and he tries to shove them in his pockets without drawing attention to the movement.

“Are your hands cold?”   
  
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess”

Wonwoo turns the heat up a little, giving Mingyu a fleeting, soft smile. Mingyu’s face remains red for the rest of the ride — it’s just the air conditioner, it’s just too hot inside.

  
  


Stepping into Wonwoo’s home is like getting a bucket of cold water poured down on you. It’s huge and modern with an open-space layout, rooms filled with sleek geometric furniture, everything in monochrome, barring the deep maroon back wall of the living room area. It feels empty.  _ Wrong _ . It reminds him of the hallways of The Manor, cold and barren.

Wonwoo shrinks into himself, seemingly having read Mingyu’s mind — not that his body language was being subtle — and shuffles further inside. Mingyu follows him into the kitchen silently, gliding like a shadow. The kitchen is bright and spacious, decked out with semi-professional equipment. It too feels empty, clinical, unused. 

Wonwoo’s unloading their groceries, still quiet and tense. Mingyu hovers.

”Um. That’s all the groceries, pots and pans are in the cupboard below and utensils are in the drawer. Call me if you need something, I’m gonna shower and change.”

With that, Wonwoo scurries away, leaving behind a confused Mingyu.

”Okay, thanks”

Preparing dinner is usually relaxing, but being practically alone in an unfamiliar house with a moody Wonwoo makes Mingyu nervous. He keeps straining his ears, trying to hear the sound of shower.

His grandmother used to say that it’s better to go hungry than cook when you’re not happy. He hopes his unhappiness doesn’t make the food taste sour. He has cooked for Wonwoo before, but not like this. This is his chance to impress Wonwoo and he’s going to do it. 

The chicken’s roasting in the oven and Mingyu’s almost done with dishes when Wonwoo wordlessly appears by his side,grabs the towel and starts drying the plates. The mood is still strange, but Mingyu doesn’t know how to begin to assuage it. 

”Should we open the wine?” is his olive branch. He pours out two generous glasses, and Wonwoo seems to relax once he’s sitting down, holding the glass.

”I noticed you were…. wondering about the house”

”Ah yeah it um- well… it doesn’t really….”

”It doesn’t feel like me?”

”Well, yeah.”

”That’s because I didn’t really have a hand in anything. My company hired a designer who did all of it”

Mingyu hums and looks around a bit more, taking it in.

”I didn’t really care a lot before, I was touring or working so much that I barely spent time here — and when I did have time, I spent it elsewhere”, Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows meaningfully. 

”The shop!”

”Yeah. I stumbled on it accidentally and thought maybe it’s a sign I should get some furniture  _ for myself _ . Maybe this would feel more like a home then”

”You’re stacking quite a lot on my shoulders here”, Mingyu laughs. Wonwoo just smiles softly, the corners of his mouth lifting up slightly. Mingyu’s heart pounds in his chest, he’s again wondering if it’s something he should talk to his doctor about, lately it seems like it won’t halt, painfully drumming away behind his ribcage, day in, day out. 

The chicken comes out of the oven, two glasses of wine later. Wonwoo moans around a forkful, Mingyu chokes on his tongue. Before he can stop it, his brain has gone off the rails and supplies him with hazy images of Wonwoo in bed, Wonwoo under him, Wonwoo tired and flushed, stretching languidly like a cat in the sun. Wonwoo’s up from his chair, slapping a coughing Mingyu on the back and it  _ does not help _ . Mingyu regains control, but even with Wonwoo back in his seat on the opposite side of the table, there’s a palm print searing itself into Mingyu’s skin. He didn’t realise Wonwoo slapped him that hard.

Their feet touch under the table, just a light brush, but it sends Mingyu’s mind into a tailspin again.  _ Geez, get a hold of yourself. _

For the rest of the night, Mingyu’s mind keeps going back to those thoughts of Wonwoo, and he feels flushed, too warm, like Wonwoo’s going to read his mind and find out.

They’ve moved to the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, way closer to each other than they should be. There’s room, there’s plenty of room, but they’re sat there, personal space a shared bubble, warm and intimate.

Mingyu’s knee is pressed against Wonwoo’s shin, and he watches as Wonwoo takes a careless sip of his wine. Watches as a sharp tongue peeks out and chases after the ruby red droplet that he almost missed. His ears are full of cotton, thoughts full of drops of ruby red on a carpet, in a bathtub, on the backseat of a taxi, in a back alley that smells like the rotting scraps of the Chinese restaurant next door. It comes to him like a flood, and the sharp intake of breath does not go unnoticed. In an instant, Wonwoo’s leaning closer, cradling his head in his hands, asking if he’s okay with his criminally disarming pinched brow. Wonwoo guides him through it, leads him away from the hunt, closer to home.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like that, you got it! _

_ In…Out… In… Out. _

Suddenly he’s back and Wonwoo’s face is so close. His fox eyes, indescribably deep and dark, hold so many swirling emotions that they look like the stormy sea. Mingyu notices the uneven eyelids, searches the planes of his face for details, stops at the sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. His lips are carelessly stained red from the wine, Mingyu thinks idly of lipstick. He hates it, it makes hunting so difficult, it’s messy, it leaves a trace and doesn’t come out in the wash, but maybe it would be different on Wonwoo. Maybe everything would be different on Wonwoo. 

He doesn’t notice when his eyes slide closed, doesn’t hear the hitch in his breath when Wonwoo leans in to kiss him. Mingyu lets go of his wine glass and hears the sound of it falling on the rug. It’ll surely stain. Wonwoo’s lips are searing, and nothing in this world could hurt more than the knowledge of what he has to do. He lets himself press closer, breathes out gently through his nose and tries to commit it to memory — whether it’ll be an ecstatically happy one or an insanely painful one remains to be seen. When he pulls back, he makes the mistake of glancing at Wonwoo, and  _ oh.  _ The loveliest flush has spread out over his cheeks, and his eyes sparkle so beautifully, mesmerizing and twinkling like the stars dotting the night sky. Mingyu averts his eyes and before he knows what’s come over him, he darts up from the sofa. He mumbles a few hurried apologies that hardly make sense, and runs out the door without a coat, shoes in hand. The door slams shut behind him, and his heart snaps.

* * *

Mingyu’s stressed out, with energy unbound coursing through him. His thoughts are difficult to hold onto, they scatter like cockroaches in the light as soon as he turns his focus inward. He feels like he’s hopped up on stimulants, never staying still for more than a flap of a butterfly’s wing. He hasn’t been able to work on Wonwoo’s commission for over a week now and he couldn’t begin to explain why — it just feels weird, every time he even thinks about it his skin starts feeling too tight and there’s a pressure somewhere behind his shoulder blades, radiating pain down his arms all the way to his fingertips. He’s kept his shop closed, but Wonwoo still comes by sometimes. Mingyu avoids Wonwoo like the plague, slipping in and out of his apartment using the narrow alley between his shop and the one next to it. If he could, he’d cancel the commission and return Wonwoo his money. Mingyu’s unrasy with the physical presence of Wonwoo, but deep inside he knows it’s more about the way he takes up space in Mingyu’s head, under his skin, in his lungs. 

So Mingyu avoids him. He goes out every night now, on the hunt for the warmth of a pliant body underneath him, for the way rubies flow out of the cuts on their arms, the way they scream when he plucks out their teeth, the way he rejoices in the breaking of bones, the wheezing breaths drawn in pain at the last moments of the lives of the almost nameless men and women. Torture, unchanging no matter how creative you get, is a comfort, in direct contrast with the unfamiliar position he finds himself in with Wonwoo. Torture always sounds the same, and the way it rings louder than anything else helps him drown out the deep timbre of the words he keeps replaying in his head.

Mingyu’s avoidance tactics can only work for so long, and as he traipses home at dawn one day, he notices a hunched figure sitting on the stoop of his shop. He freezes in his tracks and considers turning around and booking it, but before he can spring into action, the figure straightens out its back, rushing to its feet. Game over, he’s been spotted. Wonwoo doesn’t call out to him, but Mingyu can see the set of his shoulders, ready to confront the situation. Mingyu walks to him slowly, self-conscious about the sinfully tight leather pants and the mesh shirt underneath his blazer. Wonwoo doesn’t seem to notice ( _ or care _ ). Something about it makes annoyance flare deep behind Mingyu’s ribs.  _ You always were an attention seeker _ , says a voice not quite unlike his aunt’s at the back of his mind.

Mingyu comes to a stop, silent, waiting for Wonwoo to say his piece.

“You’ve been avoiding me”   
  


It’s not accusatory, Wonwoo’s merely stating a fact — the sun is hot, water is wet, cows don’t fly, Kim Mingyu is unable to confront his feelings. 

“No I haven’t”, comes Mingyu’s reply. It’s defensive as hell, squeaky, like a cornered wild animal. “I’ve just been… busy”   
  
Wonwoo’s face is a mask of cool indifference, but Mingyu hopes he sees a flash of something behind those dark eyes that try their best to bore into Mingyu’s, trying to catch them as they roam to take in everything but Wonwoo’s. 

“Yes, I can see that”, another fact, brittle and bitter. The eyes have moved down to the region around Mingyu’s shoulders. There’s lipstick on his collar, a freshly forming love bite somewhere right below his jaw. Shame tickles the back of Mingyu’s throat and he tries to clear it with a cough. 

“Wonwoo, I can guarantee you that what I do in my spare time does not interfere with my work”. This time his voice doesn’t tremble, it’s clean, clinical, detached. Wonwoo stares at him, hands fisted at his side, trembling. He looks at Mingyu pleadingly, Mingyu remains cold and stoic.   
  


  
“Ugh. Coming here was a mistake. You know my number, call me when my bed’s ready”   
  
Wonwoo turns on his heel. Mingyu feels like he needs to say something, but all he can do is swallow dryly on air. He looks on helplessly as Wonwoo’s long legs carry him out of his sight. Mingyu hangs his head in —  _ shame? exhaustion? something  _ — and notices a thermos and a paper bag from the bakery, left to cool on the stoop. Something pricks at the back of his eyes and he picks up the items with shaky hands.

The sun rises, the coffee goes cold, Mingyu sits with his head in his hands.  _ This isn’t how he’s supposed to feel. This isn’t how things are supposed to go.  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while.  
> How did you like the chapter? How do you feel about the way I’ve been building meanie’s relationship throughout the past two chapters?


End file.
